


Dried Out Paint

by Sandkopf



Series: Everything we paint, we call love [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9697553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandkopf/pseuds/Sandkopf
Summary: Yuuri Katsuki's first project flopped, his hand hurts and suddenly there is a poodle that doesn't belong to him.Victor Nikiforov is a bestselling graphic novel author, doesn't want to go home and loses his poodle.orThe first installment of my Artist AU "Everything we paint, we call love"





	

**Author's Note:**

> screamed about with and betad by wonderful Rynezion.

Sharp pain buzzed in his hand as Yuuri threw the tennis ball. It didn’t fall very far but Vicchan was enthusiastically running after it anyway, almost tripping over his own feet. Yuuri grabbed his bare wrist, the voice of his doctor echoing in his head cautioning him to wear the hand brace as often as possible. Stupid thing is at home, though.

Vicchan returned with the ball, let it fall down in front of Yuuri's feet and looked at him expectantly. Yuuri bend down to pet the dog's head with a smile, telling him he did a good job and offering him a treat. Then he decided it was time to go home, took the wet ball and put it in the pocket of his jacket. No use in staying longer if I can’t even throw a ball right.

All sorts of people were filling the park with life that time of day – groups doing yoga, children playing tag, dogs catching everything thrown. The sun wasn't showing itself much but it was warm nevertheless, spring breezes letting the blossoms chase each other in the air. Although it was a nice day, cozy, Yuuri could not fully appreciate the pleasant atmosphere as the talk with his editor two weeks ago still weighed heavily on his mind.

It is no use like this, Katsuki-san. The fanbase you have is not enough to make your work profitable for us. I’m sorry.

Vicchan stayed by his side, occasionally distracted by another dog or a child wanting to pet him but he followed Yuuri without further encouragement.

In the parking lot, Yuuri opened the trunk of his old, red Subaru, a blanket with Vicchan's favorite toys laid out, a well-chewed football, several frisbees, a single slipper spread across the place. Vicchan was used to the car by now and jumped in without complaint. 

Traffic was tedious. Every green light would switch to red as Yuuri approached it. Pedestrians would decide to cross the street at the most dangerous places. One street was blocked because of an accident, forcing Yuuri to take a detour that cost him about ten minutes. There was a park much closer to his home, where Yuuri usually went jogging with Vicchan but this one a little far out of town had much more space, wider lawn to play on, and was significantly cleaner. So he endured the thirty minute drive every once in a while. 

Especially when Vicchan likes it here so much.

Vicchan, though, was unusually fidgety today. He would normally be resting calmly, gnawing on the slipper or the odd ball, only sometimes looking up when Yuuri was forced to break less smoothly or when sirens of an ambulance were wailing. But today, Yuuri saw the dog's head in the rearview mirror all the time, looking out the window or restlessly pacing. When a motorcycle was rushing past them, he even barked twice, one high, one grumbled sound. Yuuri frowned. What's up with him today? Maybe he should have stayed a little longer, playing a bit more to get Vicchan more exhausted, even if it hurt his hand. I’ll take the longer route for our evening walk then.

When he had to stop at a red light, Vicchan was so noisy in the back that Yuuri shifted around in his seat. "Vicchan!" he called the dog’s attention. He turned towards, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Yuuri frowned. Something was off. That doesn’t look like… the fur was darker, mouth bigger. That wasn’t...

Suddenly, cars started honking. Yuuri looked at the street ahead to realize that the two cars in front of him were gone already and he was blocking the traffic. He started driving but before he could cross the street, the lights were turning red again, forcing him to break. Behind him, honks got more frequent. Shitshitshitshit. Nerves on edge, Yuuri’s eyes jumped between the red light and the rearview mirror, trying to determine if that was really his dog, who was answering the honks with loud barks, while keeping his eyes ahead to avoid being even more of a disturbance. 

As soon as he slipped into the first free space at the parking lot of his apartment complex, Yuuri tumbled out of his car, almost crashing face-first onto the asphalt. He threw the door to the trunk open with a jolt. Before being able to realize what was happening, he was knocked over by a dog, back smashing hard on the pavement while a rough, big tongue was licking over his face, getting his glasses askew. Despite himself, he laughed at the ticklish feeling. He tried pushing the dog away, needing to get a good look at him, when he suddenly felt another tongue licking over his hand. 

What the…?

There were two, almost identical poodles in the parking lot hovering over Yuuri, wagging their tails. Vicchan was nudging the other dog away, so that he could run his wet tongue over Yuuri's face, too, while the other dog didn't want to lose his spot and pushed back playfully.

"Stop it you two!", he finally managed to say, wiggling out of their grip on him. He sat up somewhat, straightening his back and inspected the dogs. There was Vicchan, good old Vicchan, sticking out his tongue in excitement as he stared at Yuuri. He had never seen the other dog, though. It was the same breed, a brown standard poodle, but bigger than Vicchan and his fur a shade darker. At least Vicchan is here, too. I only fucked up half-way...

"Where did you come from?" Yuuri asked the dog, dumbfounded. He responded with a decidedly unhelpful bark. Yuuri changed his position, kneeling in front of the dogs and attempting to scratch them behind the ears. The other poodle easily leaned into the touch, clearly enjoying it. He’s really friendly... I wonder who he belongs to. With that, all of a sudden, the realization slammed down on Yuuri.

Shitshitshitshitshitshit. SHIT.

"How did you get into my car?" his voice was getting higher, more urgent. An uneasy feeling was pooling in his stomach, a million questions rushing through his head. Who does he belong to? Did I steal a dog? How could I not notice there were two dogs in the back of my car? How do I get him back to his owner? What if his owner is going to hunt me down and steal my dog in return? Did I steal the dog of a yakuza?

Instead of answering, the dog put his front paws on Yuuri's shoulder and attempted to lick his face again, which Yuuri dodged in time. Don’t get distracted. He suddenly caught a glimpse of a green collar around the dog's neck, with a little silver plate dangling off it. There were letters engraved which Yuuri couldn't read. Is this Russian? Tentatively, he turned the plate around and found another inscription there, this time in English. Yuuri sighed in relief.

>Hello, I am Makkachin! Please call my dad when you find me on my own!< followed by a phone number. Yuuri detangled himself from the dogs not wanting to lose another minute even with Makkachin being excitably uncooperative in holding still. Finally being able to type in the complete number, he held the phone to his ear. The thought of what the owner must feel upon realizing his dog was nowhere to be found- astray, lost- made him get over his anxiety of phone calls fast enough. I’d be freaking out if I wouldn’t be able to find Vicchan.

Waiting for the phone to be answered, he tangled his free hand into his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. He watched Makkachin play with Vicchan while waiting for the phone to be answered.

Something else dawned on him then. His name is Makkachin. A standard poodle called Makkachin. Could it be…? Yuuri shook the thoughts away. No way would he accidentally kidnap the dog of famous Victor Nikiforov, his idol in everything art related. No no, it can’t be, this can’t be it. Don’t be ridiculous. Even he couldn't possibly have been so unlucky. So many dogs in this world and he kidnapped the one that...

Yuuri's mind was still racing when the line was connected, eventually.

"Hello?" the person said.

"Hello...!" Yuuri's voice turned a pitch higher than usual. "This is Katsuki Yuuri. I'm sorry to call you so unexpectedly but I kind of… uhm... have your dog?" he said hoping his embarrassment wasn't too obvious in his words. Then, a soft voice with slightly accented English responded.

"I’m sorry? I don’t understand."

Yuuri blinked his eyes, both dogs nudging him in the leg, clearly wanting attention. It took him a moment to find the correct words in English.

"Sorry, I don't speak Japanese." the stranger clarified with increasing urgency.

"Ah, sorry." he switched to English now, too. "Ehm, sorry to disturb you. I sort of found your dog."

The stranger's voice took on a hopeful tone. "Really?! You found Makkachin? Where is he? I've been looking for him forever!"

"Ah yeah" Yuuri looked at his feet nervously, hand pulling at strands of his hair. "He, ehm, kinda got into my trunk."

A heavy silence followed. Yuuri's pulse hammered in his veins, a lump starting to grow in his throat. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry. 

"What?!"

"You see, I was in the park with my poodle and did not realize I took two home with me." This does not sound stupid at all. "I am so, so sorry. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear, I'm really sorry." The explanation sounded stupid enough to Yuuri’s ears.

"I'll pick him up. Where are you?"

Yuuri told the stranger the address and that he would wait for him outside on the parking lot. They hung up, after Yuuri apologized again and let out a long groan. This was easily one of the most horrifying phone calls he ever had to make. He rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache lurking. Vicchan was nudging his leg then, looking up to Yuuri with big eyes. He always seemed to know when Yuuri was feeling uneasy and always found a way to comfort him. Yuuri kneeled down and gratefully buried his face in his fur. It would take a while for the stranger to arrive anyway, so Yuuri decided to keep himself busy with the dogs in the meantime. He went through some easy commands with Vicchan, making him sit, roll around and stand on his hind legs. The routine was so familiar, having trained with Vicchan for so many years, that Yuuri felt a bit calmer. Sometimes Makkachin would copy him or disturb him but most of the time he did something completely unrelated, like demanding cuddles or sniffing around. Two or three times, Yuuri had to make sure Makkachin wasn't roaming away. Worst than stealing a dog is losing that dog after telling his owner that I have him.

Over half an hour later, a black BMW that certainly didn’t belong to anyone living here pulled into the parking lot. Makkachin, who was busy chewing on a tennis ball, noticed the man exiting the expensive car and hurried over, tail wagging, barking happily in greeting.

The stranger was tall, with short silver hair that was falling over his left eye. 

Oh nononono. 

He leaned down to pet his dog, talking to him in a language Yuuri didn't understand. 

Nononono. 

Vicchan curiously trudged over to him, too. That's when the stranger's attention was caught and he straightened up again. He made eye contact with Yuuri, looking at him suspiciously but Yuuri was frozen in shock. 

Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh nonononono.

Victor Nikiforov, author of Faranoah, the most successful fantasy graphic novel of the century stood right before him. Yuuri had been following his art blog almost since the very beginning and was even inspired by him to start his own web comic a few years ago.

This can't be. You did not steal Victor Nikiforov's poodle, you did not steal Victor Nikiforov's poodle. Nononononono.

"I am so sorry!" Yuuri bowed, forcing his body out of its immobility, his reddening face pointing toward the ground. Heat was rising on his skin, an uncomfortable prickle in his stomach, words leaving his mouth too quickly. “I don’t know how it happened. Your dog was just suddenly there and I only noticed it too late. I am so sorry.”

"Makkachin just hopped into your car?" Nikiforov-san asked. It was impossible to interpret his tone.

Yuuri dared to look up slightly. "He did." he admitted. "I swear, if I had noticed earlier I would have never..."

Nikiforov-san interrupts him with a raised hand. "It's okay.”

"No, it really is not. Please let me make it up to you!" That’s the last thing he could do. An apology wasn’t enough. This is not enough.

"I believe that you didn't take him on purpose, Makkachin is really affectionate towards other dogs and people and..."

"That is no excuse. I should have been more careful. Please, I could buy you dinner, or…" It wouldn’t be enough, still. But a start…

"It really is okay." Nikiforov-san's voice became more tense. "Don't worry too much about it."

Biting his lip, Yuuri straightened up completely. This whole situation was impossible. This can’t be happening. "Alright." he whispered, the last thing he wanted was to anger him. Even more than he already is.

"Thank you for calling me. Makkachin and I will be on our way now."

"Okay." Yuuri whispered, calling Vicchan back, who had started playing with Makkachin again.

Without any further comment, Nikiforov-san drove away.

*

Yuuri was sitting at his desk, head planted on the wooden surface, a pencil poking at his cheek. There was no way he’d ever be able to process the turn of events today. He had finally met Victor Nikiforov, the Victor Nikiforov, after imagining so many situations, so many scenarios of what it would be like to finally talk to his idol in person. At a signing, at an artist fair they'd both be invited too, at a charity gala. None of these situations had included stealing his dog.

I successfully destroyed every chance of having a serious discussion with him forever.

Groaning in frustration, Yuuri leaned back on his chair. He stared at the art pieces on his wall, all painted by Nikiforov-san, most of them about Faranoah but also a signed illustration from the first web comic Nikiforov-san has ever released. Yuuri was especially proud to possess this one. It had been a rather spontaneous sale at Nikiforov-san’s store and he had been out of stock very quickly but Yuuri had been one of the firsts to log in, although it had been night in Japan and the next day he had school in the morning. I even had to lend money from Nee-chan to get it.

From the very first time he saw a drawing by Nikiforov-san, Yuuri had been mesmerized. Every line, every point, every curve was meant to be there, whether it was a doodle or perfectly detailed painting. The way his worlds come alive was something Yuuri would never be able to grasp. He had tried so often. So very often.

He carefully went through his stretching exercises. His hand still ached a bit, but a quick doodle would be possible, Yuuri decided. He pulled out his sketchbook, pencils and ink. After having been told that his very first big project would be canceled, Yuuri had completely stopped drawing for about a week. His social media accounts dried out, only staying alive by the occasional photo of Vicchan.

However, he absolutely couldn't take it anymore. His fingers were itching to draw, even if his head was empty. But for the time being, he turned back to using traditional tools again, hoping for inspiration in the old, comfortable medium. He flipped through his sketchbook, small doodles, faces, plants, animals. At an empty page he started sketching and without thinking about it much, he slowly turned it into the main character of Faranoah, sitting at the edge of a volcano. His wolf companion was beside him, steam blowing out her nostrils. It was just a sketch for now and his wrist reminded him fervently that he shouldn't overdo it. But it was something. Something that he wasn’t ashamed of showing. Something he hadn’t felt for a long time. 

Before going to bed, he posted the sketch on his Instagram story.

***

After Victor finished writing the e-mail to his editor, he stood up and stretched, elbows popping loudly. The fourth installment of his fantasy graphic novel hit the shelves two months ago, and now he was working on the draft for the next one. 

However, there weren't many news Victor could send. He had been looking for inspiration in various places, traveling to Peru, South Africa, Thailand. Eventually, he settled in Japan, fascinated by it's culture, it's architecture, it's history. 

Moving had been a spontaneous decision entirely, driven by the wish of not wanting to return. The simple thought of being back in Russia had been suffocating, his ideas drowning and pulling him along. Although Victor didn’t understand the language, communicating with people sometimes a tall order, it was much easier to breathe. Inspiration, however, had yet to arrive, most certainly anything that would surprise and delight his readers.

Makkachin had been sitting on his feet the entire time, now startled by Victor standing up. In turn, Victor’s feet felt warm and heavy and after a few steps started prickling so terribly, Victor had to flop down on his couch. He winced, while waiting out the feeling.

He so does that on purpose.

Makkachin jumped on the couch, placing himself across his lap, his posture radiating innocence. There goes my plan going to bed soon... He rubbed one hand on the dog’s back, soft curly fur tangling around his fingers. With the other, he pulled out his phone. His usual stream of notifications were popping up, the Instagram and Twitter icon permanently attached to the headbar. He scrolled through Instagram lazily , liking a few posts before moving to see if there was something interesting in his mentions. Several people tagged him in the comments of one particular picture - it was an account he’s never seen before. Strange. He tapped at his screen with mild curiosity, and his breath hitched in his throat for a moment. It was a piece of fanart of his graphic novel, one of the main characters sitting at the edge of a volcano that looked like it would burst any minute. Beside him Chama was steaming, ready to tear everything apart that would lay hands on her master. The colors were brilliant, rich watercolors complementing each other in an odd but delicate balance. The whole atmosphere sucked in Victor's attention. It was summing up the character, his background, his actions, even his future, which only Victor knew for sure, in a way he had not seen in any piece of fanart before.

This is amazing.

Intrigued, Victor opened his Instagram. Japanese artist, Katsuki Yuuri, author of Counting Time. Doesn’t sound familiar. He scrolled through the page, mostly digital paintings starring the same set of characters which seem to be from his original story about a magician controlling temperature, and other projects of his. But his feed was scattered with paintings about Faranoah. Looking through everything, Victor could see some weak spots - perspective, depth- but with colors and atmosphere, this guy was a genius. Whatever he wanted to show, sadness, joy, grief, anger, Victor could feel all of it, bewitched by the way the artist seemed to pour his entire heart in them. Mesmerized, Victor looked at the scenery studies he had done. Beautiful cherry trees in full bloom, the ocean at every time of the day, a ninja hiding spot camouflaged as a castle. Almost all these amazing places were set in a town called Hasetsu that Victor has never seen before. But for Yuuri it must have been a wonderful place, warm and safe.

I need to see this place. I need to meet this person.

Quickly, Victor searched for the name online. Katsuki Yuuri. Several articles and pictures appeared. Frowning, Victor pulled one picture on full screen. 

He had definitely seen this guy before, and not so long ago either. After some digging, he’s finally found a picture with him and a poodle, similar to Makkachin and it suddenly clicked.

He's the one who kidnappped Makkachin!

Which also meant he's living in Tokyo at the moment. Victor smiled. That makes things a whole lot easier.

*

Victor was walking through the park and watched out for this Yuuri. He was a hundred percent sure that the amazing artist was the same who kidnapped Makkachin a week ago. Or when Makkachin let himself be kidnapped. So Victor took the bet that the one day wouldn't be the only time Yuuri would come to the park. He made it his mission to find him here again. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that he posted that picture straight after we met.

After walking around the park two times, Victor sat down at a bench, near the parking lot and kept his eyes fixed at the entrance. His car wasn't there earlier if that old Subaru really had been his car so he would wait for a bit, hoping Yuuri would show himself, eventually. It was the fifth day already but Victor wasn't giving up. I know you'll show up sooner or later. If I could just remember your home address...

He pulled out his sketchbook, deciding that while he was waiting, he might as well draw a bit. He was trying to figure out a villain minion character who rebels against the oppression she suffered, tagging along the main character for a time and teach him the customs of this new place. He had the rough outline of the next two books planned out already, though not a hundred percent detailed yet. He quietly hoped he can convince his editor not to talk him into a seventh book. He loved his characters and his world but there were so many more ideas in his head and he'd been working on this world for so long he felt he was just doing it for everyone else but not for himself anymore. And that didn't do his characters any justice.

While drawing her outfit, Victor realized more and more that he wasn't satisfied. Her design was to easy, too obvious. No one would be surprised by her appearance. Victor stared at the sketch, the pencil raised to his lips, and looked for the mistake. He searched her face, her anatomy, her clothes. Something was off, but he wasn't able to determine it. Sighing, he looked up from his book and there he stood. Yuuri Katsuki, with his dog strolling along. He had a football in his hand, an old, battered thing, that was miraculously holding on to last bits of air. He kicked the thing onto the lawn, his dog racing after it, trying to catch it in the air and failing miserably. Victor snorted.

He made his way to Yuuri, sketchbook safe in his bag, a smile playing on his face. Finally, his patience and diligence was paying off. When Yuuri noticed him coming closer, his eyes widened comically. He made an awkward turn, showing Victor his back and retreated to the direction of the parking lot again, calling his dog Vicchan to come along.

Victor frowned. Yuuri had clearly seen him and had purposefully turned away. Rude. But he wouldn't let himself be shaken away so easily, not after waiting for so long. He followed him, even calling his name. Fortunately, Victor was faster and walked (half-jogged) beside Yuuri, catching up to him in no time. His shocked face returned upon seeing he had been cornered. Gracefully, Victor cut off his way, coming to a stop in front of him.

"Hello, Yuuri." he greeted cheerfully.

"Uhm, hello." Yuuri bit his lips, his cheeks colored red. His eyes were searching around the lawn where Makkachin has already joined Yuuri's dog, playfully fighting over the football.

"I saw that drawing you made of Faranoah."

The blush reached Yuuri's ears. "Oh..." he looked horrified.

"I loved it."

"What?" Yuuri turned towards Victor. His brows were furrowed, mouth slightly open as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It was amazing, I loved it. I think you have great talent." Victor assured. Because it was true. And he needed to tell him.

"Oh." Yuuri breathed. He seemed unsure of what to do with that piece of information, his hand ran through his hair. "Uhm... thank you…?"

“The way you handle colors, it's..." too hard to find a fitting word for it. "fascinating. Stunning. Incredible. Though, looking through your Instagram I also saw several weaknesses. You have no sense for perspective for example."

Yuuri looked at the dogs again with a forlorn expression, hand still combing through his hair "I know."

Victor raised a finger to his lips, which were formed into a mischievous grin "I believe you still owe me dinner for stealing my dog."

"What?!" disbelievingly, Yuuri's head snapped up, staring at Victor "Oh but..., uhm...” clearly, Yuuri was caught off guard by the statement. But I'm not letting you go so easily.

“Yeah…, uhm, I guess.” Yuuri shrugged.

“Awesome!” Victor cheered. “Lead the way!”

“You mean...right now?”

“Yes, of course! I'm hungry.”

“O...okay.” he called Vicchan who came running towards him, Makkachin trailing behind with the football in his mouth. They decided that Victor would follow Yuuri with his car to a restaurant nearby.

In the car, Victor hummed. This might be it. This might be my new inspiration.

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me:
> 
> lifeinyourhead.tumblr.com
> 
> twitter.com/sandkopf


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